Page 45 of Falling for My Matchmaker

He smiled. “Something like that.”

“And the whole Rob thing?” I asked. “You with the perfect man at the party?”

He chuckled. “Rob’s a client. We were practicing coming out together in social settings. He wanted to know what it would feel like to say ‘my boyfriend’ in public.”

“And you didn’t deny it because...?”

“Client confidentiality.” He shrugged. “Also, it was mildly entertaining to watch you spiral.”

“I didn’t spiral.”

“You googled how long someone can survive in a locked bathroom.”

“Once.”

He looked away.

“I didn’t kiss you during the mock date because you were a client,” he said. “I kissed you because I couldn’t not.”

I looked at him. At the man who showed up when it mattered. Who listened. Who waited. Who somehow always made me feel like myself and better at the same time.

“So,” I said. “What now?”

“That’s up to you,” he said. “But for the record... I’m very available. Very not gay. And officially off the clock if you’re interested in making things personal.”

I laughed. Full and real.

And then I kissed him.

No training exercise. No mock setup. No boundaries to negotiate.

Just a real kiss. At the right time. With the right person.

And that was more than I’d ever written on any list.

Epilogue

“Welcome back toCrimes and Consequences,” the host said into the mic. “I’m Elliot Graves, and our today’s guest is Diana Martin. She made headlines six months ago when what started as a promising third date turned into a locked-room situation involving a fake name, missing cell signal, and one very unsettling conversation. You might’ve heard the memes. You might’ve shared them. Either way—she’s here, she’s safe, and she brought company.”

Elliot turned to me. “So, Diana, take us back. Last time we talked, the story had just hit the news. How are you now, six months out?”

“Alive, solvent, moderately famous in the niche category ofWomen Who Intimidated Their Captors Into Fleeing,” I said. “And also off the dating apps. Permanently.”

“Because...?”

I turned slightly toward the man sitting beside me—calm, buttoned-up, smiling like he knew all the secrets of the room.

“This is Nate. Formerly my matchmaker who tracked down the kidnapper. Currently my fiancé.”

Elliot leaned into the mic. “Plot twist of the century.”

Nate raised a hand. “Hi.”

“So let’s talk logistics,” Elliot said. “You were off the grid. Drugged. No signal. How did anyone even find you?”

I glanced at Nate, who nodded like I had full clearance to tell it.

“Well,” I said, “I texted Nate just enough for him to panic responsibly. He went straight to Claudia, who had previouslyseen that my date was suspicious—which meant she had to go full FBI with only a first name, three emojis, and a blurry profile pic.”

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